


On Baden Hill

by freddiejoey



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:19:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freddiejoey/pseuds/freddiejoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Baden Hill.......</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Baden Hill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trepkos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepkos/gifts).



Part One

They say that pride comes before a fall and I am feeling proud the day that Mark thunders in. Proud and confident and relieved. Kai and Llud and I are seated at the longhouse table with a bundle of parchments and my brother is armed with nothing more threatening than a quill. It is what I have always dreamed of – making peace through treaties and pacts, achieving truces by building trust and agreeing terms. For some years the bonds within the Celtic alliance have been easier to maintain – even Morged, that shifty wolf, has been brought to heel. And today is a culmination of sorts – because the words Kai is writing concern the agreement we are currently settling with Cerdig……

The Saxon chieftain is growing older – I am not sure exactly how old yet I am guessing that he has seen close to sixty summers. He has several sons, but the eldest two, Leofa and Wilferth have recently converted to Christianity. It could be at their insistence that he is seeking Celtic accord. I am not truly troubled by what has motivated Cerdig – only that the effort has been made and that we respond accordingly.

Of course, it will do nothing to mitigate the threat from our other traditional enemies – the Picts, the Scots and the Angles. But, if in any measure, Kai’s boys and my four-year-old Luc can be assured of a life less dependent on the sword and the axe and the shield, then all the blood will not have been spilled in vain, all the warring will have had some purpose……

Now Kai laughs at something our father has said and finishes the sentence he is drafting with a flourish. My beautiful ever-loyal big brother……… I am about to mention something to be added about hunting rights in the western forest when Llud frowns, listening intently. “Horses, three or four, coming this way – and as if the hounds of hell were giving chase.” We retrieve our cloaks and hurry outside. It is still late winter and brutally cold. Frost has thrown a crystal veil across the river and there has been nothing but endless mud, rain and snow for weeks. So, no-one would choose to be travelling now except on urgent business.

As soon as I recognize who it is my heart sinks like lead. Something is dreadfully wrong – it is definitely Mark, shrouded in a mountain of woollen capes. What alarms me infinitely more is the fact that, peering wide-eyed around Mark’s bulky shoulder, is his six- year -old son Tristran, a replica of our erstwhile lake lady Eithna. While the infamous woman herself jerks her galloping horse to a mud-splattering halt just a few feet away. Bundled in front of her is Iseult, their daughter who must be four by now – a silver-gilt child with her father’s shrewd brown eyes. Two young Cornish warriors bring up the rear.

Kai, Llud and I exchange anxious glances as Mark flings himself to the sodden ground and reaches up to help down Tristran. The king of Cornwall is no panic - mouth who acts on innuendo and rumour– if he is here, accompanied by his family in this harsh weather, then the threat is real and grave and immediate……

Mark strides up to me, raising his voice for the benefit of the few passing villagers who are not huddled around their hut fires – ‘Greetings cousin. Seems as if spring will never come.” I hear the urgency below his boisterous tone. Now he speaks quietly for my ears alone. “In private at once. There are matters…..” Trying to appear calm, I gesture toward Eithna who has dismounted with Iseult in her arms. “You need a warm fire. Rowena and the older children are in the store hut, seeing to our supplies, but Lenni is up in her hut with Shannyn. She’ll be pleased to see you.” (As pleased as any mouse to see a swooping tawny owl…..) I call to a passing farm hand to escort Eithna and her son and daughter and usher Mark and his men into the longhouse. Whatever it is will not be rendered more palatable by stalling…….

In the main room, Mark signs frantically that he does not wish to discuss anything in front of his warriors who are sitting gratefully in front of the hearth, drinking hot mead. We move into the sleeping chamber and grimly Llud bars the door. It seems strange to be conferring among Luc and Maeve’s scattered wooden animals, Rowena’s discarded sewing, Kaitlin’s ongoing board game with Cedric……

Sinking on to the bottom of my bed, Mark takes the goblet of adder’s sting that Kai hands him. “My scouts came in from the coast yesterday. You understand I had dispatched only a few – the snows always keep all the usual marauders and plunderers close to their fires. And you had sent word that you were negotiating with Cerdig. I thought we were secure at least until the spring thaw.” Hurriedly he slurps from his drink and then looks up, eyes dark with gravity.

“There is a huge force on its way Arthur. Saxons. They’ve slipped through while the earth froze –and some of them are mercenary troops from Germania who’ve braved the winter winds for the promise of our rich green lands. Six or seven longboats full. Nothing to do with Cerdig – in fact, my report is that their leader intends to try and overthrow Cerdig if he is victorious against us Celts.”

At once, a thousand flying frenzied thoughts crowd my head. Never have I been more beholden for Kai’s steady tranquility, Llud’s impassive composure. My brother’s soothing brown eyes meet mine. “How long until they are upon us?” Mark sighs and rubs his bearded face wearily. “Two days march, perhaps three. My army is following – it should reach the forest by nightfall. I wanted to ensure that Eithna and the children were safe first. And my men are in the best of hands – my most competent battle leader, young Krist.”

Krist – Saxon by birth, Kai’s one-time cargo returned to Ulrich’s village with his sister Elka, reunited with us several years ago in Gaul, now a blacksmith in Cornwall, a husband and the father of two fine sons. Just last autumn Kai and I travelled south for Elka’s wedding.

I am frenetically calculating. There are few chieftains whose territory we can reach in such a short time. Certainly not Yorath or Corin or Tarn who I would wish to call upon first. Not even Hereward or Dirk. There is really only one - whom I had been thinking of complacently a little while earlier, a lifetime before when the world was not so precarious and menacing and bleak………

Llud speaks my reluctant thoughts aloud. “We will need to make our plans without delay - and muster all the men we can. One of us has to leave now for Morged’s camp. He is the closest and despite all his deceit, his army is always held in readiness.” Kai lays a fortifying hand on my arm. “I will go. Morged knows that he cannot attempt any of his devious nonsense with me – and he will be made to see that we are fighting for our lives. I can ride through the night and be there a little after dawn.” Despite the dire situation, I smile quietly to myself. When aroused by anger, there is no-one more formidable than my big brother (except perhaps Llud in a particularly frayed temper) – Morged had better be sensible and co-operative or he will be demolished by the full force of that magnificent Saxon tongue.

I walk with Kai out to the stables. The air is frigid – it will be a long hard cold ride. As Kai bridles his skittish black horse, we discuss what further strategies will have to de adopted (most of them thankfully always kept in abeyance against just such a day as today) – and when to tell the rest of the village. Kai frowns. “Lenni will already know something has happened because of Eithna and the children being here….. You and Llud can decide what to say and how much…….”

He tugs gently on the horse’s reins, preparing to walk it outside. Then stops, pulls my face toward his, tenderly kisses my mouth. I return the kiss with all the love that is in my heart, threading my fingers through his silky blonde hair. “Here.” I tug off the brown hood I am wearing and drag it over Kai’s tousled head. “This will keep your ears warm. Even if it makes you look like an enticing Wood Person.”

Kai is laughing as he swings onto horseback outside. White smoke billows from his horse’s nostrils in the frozen air. “God speed Kai my heart.” He clasps my hand for a moment, running one gloved finger languidly across my palm. “I will be back tomorrow little brother – with the promise of Morged’s army.” And he knees his horse into a gallop, flying through the palisade gate and out to where the winter mist is dancing like a coven of ghostly minstrels above the lake……….

 

Part Two

It is far colder than I had envisaged. Even wrapped in my piebald cloak and Arthur’s hood – and more warm than either, his love – the wind whips ferociously around me. Halfway there it starts to snow – fluffy glacial feathers that melt quickly to water when they land on my supposed heat. Not long after I pass the muddy glade beside the river where two of Morged’s men once set upon me, forcing me to slay one, forcing Arthur to face Karn for the first time in the sword ring……….

Dawn is still a grey smudge behind the encircling hills when I reach Morged’s village. I am so frozen that I have long ago lost all feeling in my hands and limbs. Gratefully I pat Rhys – such a faithful steadfast animal is a blessing. Throwing back my hood, I approach the gate wardens and dismount, stating my business, suddenly deluged again by the weight of this mission. If Morged cannot see reason…….. Well, there is no choice – he must and will…… He is Arthur’s ally and has to respond as such……

A few minutes later, having handed over Rhys to a stable hand, I enter Morged’s long house. The wily king himself has just stumbled bleary-eyed from his sleeping chamber, his plump dark-haired wife Eres blinking behind him. She is a pleasant motherly woman, some distant kin of Llud’s and as different from her cunning artful husband as it is possible to be. As I explain what has happened, why I am here, Eres bustles around, sitting me down beside the fire, warming bread and mead. Gradually I begin to thaw, closely watching Morged’s foxy gaze, his sharply pursed lips.

When I finish, he is silent for a moment – considering. I see his eyes flicker quickly toward Eres who is standing behind me and some cryptic message flashes between them. Then he claps his hands loudly, alerting the door sentry. “Send for our sons at once, the scholar and Karn. And confound the early hour for their rousing. It is a matter of the gravest urgency.”

Morged and Eres have four fine warrior sons. They stand in a broad-shouldered huddle around their father, listening to his instructions. Now that the news has been delivered and Morged is being compliant, I am overcome by weariness and anxiety. There is so much to frame, to plan, to organize – and such scant time to do it all……. I feel a kindly hand on my shoulder and look up into Karn’s concerned face. “I know you will need to ride back and rejoin Arthur very soon – but come to my hut and have a few hours sleep first. You will be no use to anyone dead on your feet.”

I am relieved to accept his offer and follow him outside into the bright snowy morning. Karn – now Morged’s right arm, the first man in his kingdom and so often the voice of reason. Arthur was right all along – Karn’s last attempt to challenge my brother at his wedding to Rowena has ultimately resulted in only lasting good for the Celtic alliance. Morged’s swordsman has three sons of his own, also young strong warriors, newly-blooded. They have inherited their father’s thick fair hair, his iron nerve, his dizzying dexterity with a sword. If this upcoming battle goes awry……. I thrust such galling thoughts aside, noticing the scholar standing in a corner of the longhouse yard, his white hair blowing in the wintry breeze.

What his real name is I have never been told – a brother to Morged’s late mother, he is simply known as the scholar and reckoned to be the wisest man in our land. Born with a weak leg and always compelled to walk aided by a stick, he has never been a soldier - instead, the mere mention of him has become a byword for sound judgement and prudence. He presided over Karn’s bout in the sword ring with Arthur. And half a dozen times or more he and my little brother have debated. Both enjoy it immensely, pitching wits rather than honed weapons against each other – and neither seems to mind who is deemed the victor. The contest is all……….

Karn holds open the door to his hut beside the forge. “Here in front of the fire. I will call you in a few hours.” Gratefully I collapse on to the pile of sheepskins heaped there – as soon as I shut my eyes oblivion overtakes me. It seems only a few minutes later that Karn is shaking me awake, offering fresh food and drink. As I stumble back out into the mud and wind, looking around for my horse, Karn puts a restraining hand on my arm. “Just one thing I would like to show you before you return to Arthur. And inform him that our preparations are being seen to as speedily as possible. Morged’s army will be at the gates of your village tomorrow.”

We enter the scholar’s small conical wicker-work hut. It is scorching inside from a huge roaring fire. The scholar gestures apologetically. “Old bones I am afraid…..and I understand you are anxious to be on your way. This is what Karn would like you to see – and pass on to your young chieftain.” He takes down a large earthenware bottle from a shelf and pulls out the wadding. I peer inside, my nose assailed by a rich oily scent. When I look up at the scholar, confused, his dark eyes dance in amusement. “Doesn’t seem like much does it but……” Karn smiles slowly. “You can tell Arthur that we have a secret…….”

On the way home apprehension starts to bite again. No more can be made ready now. Karn is a steadying influence on Morged and what he has revealed in the scholar’s hut will greatly ease – and excite - Arthur’s mind. I know, as certainly as I do the beating of my own heart, that my little brother, along with our father and Mark and Krist, will have all the necessary strategies delineated, all the necessary tactics marked out. Everything practical has been undertaken…….. No, it is other things that plague me as I ride into the bitter gusts of snow. What will happen to our families if the unthinkable was to ensue – Lenni, our two sons and daughter, Rowena, her and Arthur’s two daughters and son, Olwen who is so cherished by Llud, not to mention our unborn child that Lenni will bear within a week or two………

In fact it is this very question that is being angrily thrashed out in the longhouse when I finally fall through the doors, frozen to the bone. There is a respite while Arthur seats me in his great carved wooden chair, covers me gently in his woollen cloak, waits for me to gulp down hot mead and Lenni’s aromatic venison stew. In as straightforward a fashion as possible, I outline what Morged and Karn have planned, when their army can be expected, what the scholar has divulged .

All the while though Mark has looked as if he is ready to erupt with rage – and, as soon as I have concluded, he flares up again at Arthur. “You still propose to leave our wives and children here to the mercy of whatever may befall them?” My brother slams his fist into the wood of the table. “This village will be as well-defended as it can be Mark. All the women and children will be protected.” Arthur stands behind me, leaning against the back of his carved chair, his strength grounding and reassuring me as it has since we were children. Mark’s fierce gaze glares at him, then at me, bushy eyebrows raised belligerently. I frown at him, exhaustion sharpening my tone. “Arthur’s right Mark. We can fortify the village…..”

“No!” Llud’s interruption from the corner is like a thunderbolt. “I know what you’re trying to demonstrate Arthur – but you and Kai are wrong. If the village falls, yes, all the women and children will suffer – and I know how, I have seen it before………But Rowena, Lenni and Eithna and their children, your children, would be made examples of – well, you understand what I mean. And not only on your accounts, although that is enough – Rowena is Yorath’s daughter and Eithna Bavick’s. Lenni is the wife of what they deem a traitorous Saxon and her children bear his stamp.” Llud rises and lays his good hand on my little brother’s shoulder for a moment. “No Arthur, they must leave.”

There is silence. I can feel Arthur’s warm fingers, surreptitiously stroking my neck under my hair. Their rhythmic movement calms me, seems to appease him too. I hear him sigh. “Alright, Llud, Mark, we will make arrangements – but remember it is winter. Remember too that Lenni is near to term with child and that time is so short. Everything they need – clothing, bedding, supplies – will have to fit on as few horses as we can manage. And where exactly are they to go…….?” For the first time since Mark rode in with his grim news, I see our father smile. “Oh don’t worry Arthur, I know of just the place……”

Part Three

 

We ride carefully in single file up the steep path into the wooded hills. Firstly Arthur on his white horse with Maeve in front and Luc clinging on behind, Me carefully shielding Shannyn from the whistling winds, Theo with Kaitlin’s arms wrapped around his waist - on the tall black horse Kai recently acquired from Yorath to celebrate his eldest son’s eleventh summer – Tugram and Cedric together, followed by Druce with Tristran and lastly Eithna with Iseult, only Mark’s eyes visible in her pale little face, peering out from the swathe of sheepskin her father has bundled around her (grudgingly I must admit that Eithna can handle a horse as well as any man and better than most).

Lenni rides beside Tugram on a mule since it is generally agreed that they are more sure-footed on this rough ground. Tugram seems oblivious to the extreme cold, clad only in a light grey cloak (giving credence to the rumours that his grandfather brought back his tattooed Pictish grandmother from a raid to the far north). I know that he and his son Druce are here under sufferance – furious at being relegated to what they perceive to be the role of nursemaid.

From the longhouse bedroom, as I packed belongings for myself and the children, I heard Tugram’s angry remonstrating. But, having accepted Llud’s logic about removing us from the village, Arthur has assigned two of his staunchest warriors to be our guards. Others have been entrusted with protecting the village – and are no less disgruntled at being excluded from the upcoming battle. There has been a certain amount of glaring from their chieftain’s deep blue eyes, some austere admonishment, some imposing brotherly support.

Looking ahead along the twisting track, I cannot understand at first why Luc is laughing so hard, his tufty black head pressed against his father’s back. Then I realise it is because Arthur is softly singing to them – Maeve’s favourite song, the one about her father and uncle fishing for Saxon women in a net, the one Kai composed and can be coaxed into singing at Yuletide…….

It always makes them chuckle – especially when Kai inevitably teases me about being the only woman Arthur really wanted to catch, that the rest were simply unruly mermaids. Actually Arthur can sing almost as tunefully as Kai, although hardly anyone would know. Unlike his brother who will quite readily burst into song when the mead flows, Arthur is much more reticent. Now though his voice floats back to me, soft and sweet-sounding , making me feel calm and safe as we ride.

Gaining the top of the slope, Arthur helps the two children down and dismounts. We have reached our destination – two large cavernous caves, set high on a windy ridge, surrounded by dense forest, accessible only by a circuitous route. It is Llud who knows of their existence and has told Arthur the way to follow. Long ago, before the Romans tried to enforce their religion on the Celts, these caves were sacred to the Druidic priests. They believed that it was one of the gateways to the Otherworld - the place we travel to when we die, yet where we can also visit during our lifetime in dreams, in meditation…………..

The only other person who might have been with us is Olwen. However she has chosen to stay behind in the village – two of her sons and two of her daughters’ husbands have journeyed west with Arthur’s army, another son even now stands sentinel outside the palisade. I saw her farewell to Llud – and had to look away from the anguish in Llud’s usually imperturbable scrutiny…….. Just as it was heartrending to see Kai emerge from Lenni’s hut, stumbling because his eyes were awash with tears or Mark holding Eithna as if he would never ever let her go. (Much as I loathe the woman, Mark remains completely besotted with her)……

They have been to war often enough before and no parting is ever easy. Moreover we live in a precarious world, where a seemingly innocuous dose of sickness, a festering wound from an ill-hammered nail, the fever which can strike after a comparatively straightforward childbirth – all of these can result in death, suddenly and without due warning. But I have heard enough of the men’s murmurings to know that this time is different – we are outnumbered by over two hundred men, probably closer to three. There is the advantage of our cavalry over their foot soldiers – yet it may not be enough…….

As the dusk deepens, we hurry to become organised and stay cheerful for the sake of the children. They are aware that something is wrong – however not the full extent. Theo especially has a fairly keen idea that matters are far graver than he is being led to believe. Looking at his impassive mother though, must console him. Certainly Lenni is the most tranquil of us all. Whether because it is so close to her time and her thoughts are also focused on the coming birth, I am not sure. Every time I glance at her swollen belly I am struck again by the unbearable thought that if things go askance, Kai will never hold this baby……….

There is a need now to start a fire, feed and settle the children, make the cave as warm and inviting as possible – and for Arthur to leave. Kai and Llud are with the army, so his soldiers could not be under more competent command. Yet he still has a cold wet ride through the darkness to catch up with them –and perhaps not tomorrow, but the next day or the day after that, there will be a battle to fight: the battle that will decide……everything

They are taking the conflict to the Saxons. That much I know. Arthur and the others want to decide the terrain if they can, determine the direction of attack – and there is something else, some news that Kai brought back from Morged’s camp, that has greatly influenced their strategies…… I have utter faith in the proficiency of our battle leaders – my husband, his brother and their father, young Krist and intrepid Mark, steady Karn and shrewd Morged……….If only my faith were enough……

Arthur helps Tugram and Druce to stable the horses in the second yawning cave and sits for a short time, eating some bread and dried meat, dandling Shannyn on his knee. She chortles up at him, catching handfuls of his thick dark hair in her plump little fists. I notice for the first time that her blue-grey gaze has darkened recently, that soon her eyes and her father’s will be exactly the same beautiful colour……….

A few minutes later he rises, hands Shannyn to Lenni, goes to say goodbye to his children and Kai’s, making them laugh. I follow Arthur outside and wait while he issues some final instructions to Tugram and Druce. The night is glacial as the wind howls around us like the mourning calls of untold wailing banshees. All at once I am besieged by a crystal-edged memory – watching Arthur sleep beside the fire that first night on the way to Hecla’s encampment, knowing already that I loved him more than life itself, knowing already that I would rather die than not have him in my life………

He walks his white horse a little way into the woods and stops, holding out his arms. Silently I walk into his embrace and feel his strong lithe body pressing against the thick wool of his cloak. His mouth brushes mine, the leather of his gloved hand strokes my cold cheek and then he swings onto horseback.

I watch the horse take a few tentative steps through the crowded trees - and suddenly break into a run, halting by his stirrup. “Come back to me.” My voice is muffled by tears. Arthur smiles softly. “Love me still.” He knees his horse into a canter and is soon lost among the ebony woods, hoof beats echoing back through the inky darkness. “Always” I whisper into the frosted air and stay standing there so long after he is gone that Lenni comes anxiously looking for me…….

Krist returns from his scouting mission just before midnight. I am sitting up waiting restlessly for Arthur to return, crouched beside the fire, desperate for warmth. We are camping in a ruined Roman barracks, having almost reached the area where he wishes to confront the Saxons – force them to confront us…….. All around me men huddle around their own fires, shivering in their cloaks, shivering from other emotions too disquieting to examine closely, craving to be home, safe and sheltered with their families instead……

There are about one hundred of Mark’s soldiers, a little more of Arthur’s, a little less of Morged’s……….. And the reports tell of at least four hundred Saxon troops..... Arthur thinks that the messengers have miscalculated, that their numbers are even greater – and I believe that my brother is right.......

Relief floods through me as I feel a familiar hand on my shoulder, hear a familiar murmur sigh against my ear, “Kai my heart.” He flings himself down beside me and I hand him a cup of hot thick malted ale. “Did everything......” I look away, eyes stinging with salt. When I left Lenni she was the one who was stoic – I the one who broke down utterly....... Arthur pulls me close – for once, because of the extreme cold, everyone is uncaring and such things are not deemed strange. “Everything is secure – although Tugram is still bewailing his duties.” I grin at my little brother, assuaged by his presence. “Considering how loudly he can wail when he finds anything irksome, I'm surprised we can't hear him.”

Yawning, Arthur settles down in front of the flames, his silky dark head in my lap, his hand clasped in mine under cover of the blankets cocooning us both. Immediately my cock bounds with exhilaration and I see him smile as he feels its hardening through my breeches. Playfully I swat his cheek. “Are you never to grow out of your vanity? It's simply the anticipation of battle.........” But I know what we are both thinking of : four days ago, up in the guest quarters, Arthur burrowing beneath the sheepskins as I thrill to the graze of his tongue..... It cannot have been for the last time............

I slip my hand from his for a moment, glide it downwards, encircle his sprightly prick, feel his answering shudder....... “Now whose being vain big brother?.... and I need to sleep......” It will be going too far to kiss that gleeful smirk from his lips – even the frigid night will not exactly explain that away.......

It is in that moment that Krist looms out of the darkness, panting because he has been running so rapidly. “Arthur, Kai, I must speak with you at once.” Mark and Llud are sitting on the northern side of the hollow, Karn and Morged guarding the east, - Krist has approached from the southern edge and found us first. His earnest green eyes glow in the firelight, dazed with alarm and disbelief. “I got close to the Saxon lines and heard them speaking – I know who their leader is, the man who wants to wipe us from the face of the world and then overthrow Cerdig – their leader is that fucking bastard Horgren.”

 

Part Four

From my vantage point behind the ridge, I can see Horgren’s vast army spread out across the valley below me. There are well over five hundred men, all on foot, assembled under a blue flag emblazoned with Tiw, law-giver of the gods, flanked by a wolf-like creature on either side. Some soldiers are from Ulrich’s tribe, others are renegades who have deserted Cerdig, but most are mercenaries from Germania – if they are victorious today, they will be paid in the coin of our lands, our women, our children for slaves……

The icy dawn wind tangles their long flaxen hair and beards, whips at their brightly coloured tunics and fleecy cloaks, flattens their cross-gartered hose against their legs. They are armed with mighty two-handed battle axes, long spears, fashioned from ash with winged heads, round painted shields of lime wood strengthened by metal bands, well – honed single edge knives. Above them, the sky is grey and low.

Horgren and his men travelled through the forest to reach their position below me. Now, they stand waiting in ragged lines, silent, expectant. In front of them is a clearing, bounded on three sides by the woods, and on the fourth by a sloping hill, covered in dense undergrowth. I - along with those who will be under my command, including Karn - am secreted behind this incline.

Karn glances at me with fixed unwavering purpose. The same calm scrutiny he displayed on that long ago day, facing me across the mud of the sword ring……. Some skittish forest creature rustles through the brambles beside my horse’s hooves. The Romans no doubt had some memorable name for this place – now it is simply known as Baden Hill, the place of the boar.

A little further away, also veiled by the thickets are Kai and Krist and their soldiers. I would so much rather that my big brother fought beside me today but his leadership could not be squandered because I was needy. All he had time to do this morning was murmur the traditional battle blessing to me as we doused the fire and broke our fast. “ May your One God be your shield.” I shook my head gently. “No, Kai my heart, your love has always been my shield. I need nothing more.” And I saw the answering tears glow in his brown eyes. So, although he is not at my side, I can feel his love warming and protecting me as I sit my white horse, despite the biting wind, despite the bitter snow, despite the very threat of death………..

The majority of our men will fight on foot today. We Celts are often regarded as simply cavalry warriors – yet most of our army consists of farmers and villagers who do not own horses. Proficient with the spear from hunting the deer and the boar, dexterous with the sword through years of mandatory weapons training yet they are not skilled riders. Horses are precious in any metal – and the worth of war horses can be measured in gold. So, with limited cavalry, we have made our battle plans accordingly................

At the base of Baden Hill are Mark, Llud and their men – near two hundred Celtic warriors. They will be the vanguard of our attack, if the gods are with us, if our initial tactical ruse succeeds……… As I look down the ruse himself strides out into the gap between the two armies, crimson cloak flapping like a bloodied battle standard in the blustering breeze, bearded countenance rosy with rage.

“Horgren, is that what you are called, you who lead this rabble? Show yourself.” Mark’s fierce bellow echoes around the cup-shaped valley. Standing among his men, Llud feigns anger and disgust, pretending to restrain the equally impassioned men around him. My cousin is many things – boastful, quick-tempered, liable to often act imprudently and think rationally later – but, in this moment, he is nothing but stark daring and temerity. One carefully aimed spear from the Saxons’ forefront…………….

Instead there is a murmuring, a pushing aside of massed Saxon warriors and a tall thin stooped man of about Kai’s age appears, wispy pale hair falling to his shoulders. I have never seen Horgren before - yet it is undoubtedly him from the descriptions of Krist and my brother. Krist has been utterly accurate in another of his assessments too: Horgren, brimming with confidence, has not been able to resist snatching up the gauntlet that Mark has so publicly thrown down…..

“Mark of Cornwall.” Horgren’s tone is somewhat reedy. “I have heard that like all Cornish men you are made of nothing but wind and piss. Now it is proven.” Mark appears to swell with fury. “I may have lesser numbers than you, tow-headed scum, but each of my Celts is worth ten of your cowardly Saxons. My men fight for their homeland – yours for the scraps you deign to throw them – and the right to rape our women, since no self-respecting slut will lay a finger on your scabrous tarses.” The Saxon chieftain's howl of rage cleaves the icy air and he raises his axe high above his head, seeming to almost sweep the leaden clouds.

While the Saxon war drums begin a slow steady beat, Horgren’s soldiers stand still for a few heartbeats, chanting their deep-throated battle cry: “Abreotan, abreotan.” It is one of the few words Kai recalls from his otherwise hazy childhood before the longhouse – meaning kill, destroy. Now, droned in unison by so many booming voices, its effect is chilling. But, slowly, inexorably, the front row of Saxons begin to advance – and, thanks to Mark’s audacity, we have achieved our initial objective: to make the enemy march first………….

I have heard lurid tales about what can happen when a host of Saxon warriors, wielding axes, approach the opposition ranks – how some armies have simply fled from the battlefield in utter terror. Horgren’s men are overwhelming in their sheer mass – yet I can see gaps in their shield wall, breaches in their protective structure. Llud and Mark’s soldiers hold steady – then they too start walking forward, swords and shields forming a dense defensive barrier.

Watching our father’s resolute expression, Mark’s determined grimace, I know that they will not falter. Their warriors deliberately lack the speed and aggression of the drumming, shouting, Saxons. However they are bulwarked by something far more fortifying than any rhythm or incantation – Mark’s last words to them: “Stay staunch. Trust the strategy. Trust each other.” Llud’s parting exhortation : “You may fight because you are all Celts – but most of all, you fight for your family.”

Suddenly the two armies collide in the middle – and suddenly it is a battle. There are the first screams, the first reverberation of clashing metal, the first wild wide spurting of wet ruby and scarlet…….. The heavy Saxon axes, swinging lethally from side to side, are shattering Celtic shields, their barbed spears inflicting deep grievous wounds. Llud is in the thick of the attack, clouting with his silver hand, stabbing and lunging with his gleaming blade. Close beside him, Mark is savagely hammering, armed with his wickedly sharp sword, his sturdy metal shield etched with the black Cornish chough……….

For a few minutes, there seems to be nothing but confusion, blood, high-pitched screeching......... then I realise that the Celts are methodically hacking a battered swathe through the chaos. Horgren's troops are being frustrated and balked, their impetus suppressed – so it is obviously time.....

Wheeling my horse, I canter down to where Morged waits a short distance away, with two of his sons, one of Karn's. They sit tautly on horseback behind Baden Hill, ready for my signal. Looking up Morged sees me, calmly raises one eyebrow, smiles with venom........

They gallop around the base of the slope, swooping straight into the core of the Saxon advance, unleashing the scholar’s secret……. It resounds like the thunder of heaven, four fiery vipers winging through the snowy air from the clay pots hurled by the four looping horsemen........Falling in brilliant burning shards among the Saxons, it causes, horror, hysteria, a shrieking stampede back toward their own lines.......

Greek fire the scholar calls it. An ancient enigma that legend has it can even blaze on water............ For years he has laboured over its composition – quicklime and tar, pitch, resin, sulphur………… A terrifying scorching weapon. Our supplies are sparse and our delivery raw, but already its devastating effect is apparent. Horgren's flaming men continue to panic and flee, baying in agony as their flesh chars, Llud and Mark's soldiers in ruthless pursuit.

Now, before the Saxon reinforcements have any chance to mount a challenge, now we must strike and reduce the advantage of their superior numbers - since soon it will be far too late......... The lowest bank of Baden Hill dips to the left, hardly higher than a tall man's head. It is where my big brother, Krist and their sixty companions are concealed, in readiness...............

My gaze embraces Kai's, beautiful and brown, as I approach on horseback. It seems like for all time although it can only be a matter of fleeting seconds....... The chilling wind tosses his gossamer blonde hair, his lean whipcord body, clad in black, is tensed, anticipating........ Beside him stands Krist, still and self-possessed. From a few paces away I read Kai's silent whisper that only I can see - “Little brother, I love you.” I cannot answer in kind since his men are all looking toward me, holding their breath, - though I know that, in this moment, my eyes hold my heart….. No more to do, no more to say, perhaps ever no more…….oh, my Kai….. and then I nod…..

 

Part Five

On Arthur's signal, Krist strikes the flint and steel together, incandescent sparks fly upwards, and we plunge our spears into the cauldron’s searing flames – then fling……. From the crest of the ridge, I can tell that Horgren’s soldiers are still confused and panic-stricken, foreseeing another Celtic bombardment of Greek fire. However they make a fatal mistake – they look to the forest, to the hill – ignoring the dove-coloured sky……..

The fire-tipped spears rain down from above, launched by the sixty most unerring throwers within the Celtic alliance – those of us who could pin frogs’ legs before we could talk…… For a heartbeat I wish that I was not one, that instead I was preparing to ride at my little brother’s side – but Krist pulls at my sleeve, excitedly pointing. We have successfully flailed the far-flung undergrowth behind the advancing Saxons, setting it triumphantly ablaze, creating a murky smoke cage in which they are ensnared. This causes further distraction. Some spears have set more of Horgren’s warriors on fire, sending them in pain-wracked spirals, easy pickings for our blood-ravenous swords.

I hurtle into the marrow of the slaughter, pitching my remaining spears, feeling demented exhilaration as I watch one pierce a Saxon chest, a second splinter a Saxon thigh, a third ploughing into a Saxon throat. Amid the smoke and flames, I see a huddle of these blonde soldiers attempting to form a shield wall, ferociously brandishing their axes. Smiling, I clasp my own round metal shield, draw my gleaming sword……..

The axe has always been my preferred weapon, the weapon at which I excel. Yet I am aware that today Horgren’s men will be armed with spears as well as axes. Effective in attack, the axe can be poor as a defensive tool. It is heavy, easily resulting in over-committed blows during a fierce hand-to-hand encounter. I do not want this to be my undoing, against a Saxon using his lighter spear, conversant with the axe’s shortcomings. A skilled warrior can disarm an axe-wielding soldier by catching his weapon where it joins the shaft and sweeping it from the wielder’s hand. While an axe raised above the head leaves the user momentarily exposed to deadly spear thrusts.

Suddenly, I catch a glance of Llud, the flat of his honed blade locked against the heel of a wickedly sharp axe. With prodigious strength, our father forcibly throws off the snarling Saxon, slashing his tunic so that the bright blue becomes fatally crimson. Then the battle overwhelms me, the need to slice and parry, jab and swipe, attack and maim. Wafting smoke stings my eyes. All around me weapons clash, men howl, metal rings. A glancing axe heel opens a frayed red weal across one arm and my assailant dies, gurgling in the curdled blood clotting across his shivered neck.

Gradually I am driven across the clearing until I am fighting among the trees. I know that the Celtic battle plan relies upon many of Horgren’s men perishing now, while our warriors are fresh, while we possess the advantages of surprise, confusion and aberration. Soon, the Saxon reinforcements will swarm in and our inferior numbers will tell……… Now, though, I am awaiting the last element of our diversionary strategy………

And, without warning, it is upon us – Arthur, astride his white horse, leading an arrow-shaped cavalry charge directly into the heart of the Saxon hordes. He flies past me, flanked by Karn and Morged, hacking and slitting, their horses’ eyes gleaming ivory. The fifty horsemen with him spread out across the woods. Almost at once, the reverberation of clanging weapons is drowned out by unnatural equine screaming – as swinging axes cut down mounted soldiers in a single blow. I see one of Karn’s sons fall, his fair head severed, his horse hellishly butchered. Followed by Elka’s new husband Barris, felled by a diving spear – she is a six-month widow………….

Then Arthur wheels back, attacking the Saxon slayer with a fierce offensive slash, opening his throat to glistening luminous bone. A second Saxon races forward, emitting a nightmarish roar, axe uplifted in both blood – splattered hands. Moving mercurially, my little brother throws his short sword, whirring through the rimy air, - embedding it in his enemy’s barrel chest. I am sent reeling by a relentless axe assault as a third Saxon assails Arthur with a savage spate of two-handed onslaughts – the white horse charges off into the forest, the murderous Saxon hanging off its side, and is lost to sight among the heaving bodies, the rustling bushes, the acrid smoke…….

It is then, as I withdraw my bloodied sword from another quivering corpse, that I mark the blue battle standard snapping in the crisp wind. Tiw dances mockingly between his grinning wolves. Somewhere near me must be Horgren……. Yet it is Mark I notice first, striding through the smoke, shield almost fractured to splinters, blade splotched with clots and gore. He gazes around fiendishly, obviously hunting the brutish Saxon leader.

As if to oblige, Horgren looms out of the undergrowth, grasping a monstrous axe, its narrow bottom garlanded by blunt projections hungry to hook over the rim of Celtic shields. Another Saxon, spewing out an eerie shrill scream, like a disembowelled rabbit, rushes at me – and by the time he is lying gutted at my feet, Mark is being frantically hauled away by two of his men….. Bleeding profusely from a yawning slash snaking across one thigh……he looks ashen, pallid, dead……..

Horgren leers, running one knobbly finger across his axe’s grisly edge. I take one truculent stride toward the swinish bastard - but suddenly, a Saxon spear skims my ear, forcing me to confront its thrower, curving my sword in a diagonal arc upwards, slicing through sinew, muscle, gaping flesh….

 

I am slipping in and out of consciousness, desperate, determined to stay on horseback – still I keep sliding…… My left shoulder has been gashed to the sinews, blood gushing out in ruby cascades. The wound throbs rhythmically, with dull heavy blows of pain. I have long lost sight of Karn and Morged, of Krist and Mark, of Llud and my Kai…….. Our forces are depleted, the first advantage of ingenuity and Greek fire now eclipsed by the sheer heft of their greater numbers.

All around me, - among the woods, across the clearing, on the slopes of Baden Hill – lie the dead and the dying, the mutilated and maimed. The pearly snow falls softly on them all, whether they can cry out for mothers, lovers and wives, whether their voices have been evermore hushed….. And Horgren’s renegades are yet to take the field, a further eighty or so fresh men. We will fall, leaving the way open for these ravening Saxon hordes……… the way leading to our families, our villages, our people - everything so long cherished, nourished, beloved…………..

Without warning, I hear a rasping scream through the trees. “……..my lord Horgren……. the day will be ours…… when the reinforcements march forth……. I did not mean…….” and a terrible bellow of agony. Ahead of me, amidst the smoke and saplings, stands Horgren, blood-soaked axe in one hand, a spear in the other poised over a crumpled Celtic warrior beside his boots. As I watch he kicks aside a lifeless Saxon, throat cavernous from ear to ear – obviously one of Horgren’s own lieutenants who has questioned his leader’s tactical judgment and been ultimately rebuked for his seeming insolence. “You cowardly fuck.” He spits on the Saxon’s carcass.

Dizziness overcomes me again and I tumble to the ground, listening to my beloved horse Bran gallop away into the chaos of battle, concealing myself in the russet undergrowth. I am not the only occupant of the thicket – beside me two rigid Saxons and one of Mark’s men sprawl entangled in eternal rictus. Glancing up, I see Horgren roughly drag his captive by his nut brown hair, axe poised to strike – and realise, with a jolt of dread, that it is Krist……….

Afterwards I will recall it taking forever, yet it is merely an instant : Horgren, sneering down at Krist, incredulous at his good fortune; the harsh sounds of weapons clanging and men wailing echoing all around us; my futile howl of disbelief; Horgren’s axe, daubed with copper fluid, beginning its final fatal descent; the spear suddenly shooting from above me, bristling the copse, gouging Horgren’s back; his outraged death rale; Krist rolling away; Kai leaping forward, his ferocious roar : “For Elka and Hildred….”, his sword hewing; my heart singing; Bran hurtling back; the darkness coming down…….

 

I know that my little brother has to be close-at-hand. His white horse Bran has fled past me, rider-less, crazed by the stench of reeking entrails, the high-pitched piercing screeches as Horgren drowns in his own fetid blood……. Deranged by fury and uncertainty, I yell to Krist – but he has snatched up a sword from a slain Celt to ward off another Saxon’s axe flurry…… Distraught, maniacal, I gaze around……. stumbling, seeking, rife with towering frustration…… The axe heel thuds dully, my temple catching the brunt…… I feel myself topple, the resounding metal and shouting soldiers suddenly distant, the world suddenly edged by glowing light….. Arthur……my love……….. and the light engulfs…

 

Part Six

It is so difficult to believe that anything is really wrong. Within the cave, it is very quiet and very warm. For three days the children have scrambled about, marvelling at the strange plants and worms, snails and insects. Shannyn has had a wonderful time, being transferred from Theo's hip, to Kaitlin's, to Cedric's, bombarded by new sights, unique sounds.

During the last few weeks, Kai has been teaching Luc to play a smaller version of the bard’s instrument and he has brought it with him. Now he and Maeve pluck at the strings, making each other laugh uproariously at the twanging sounds they produce. All in all a happy time, if not for the adult knowledge of what is happening out there beyond the wooded hills, if not for our throbbing hearts…..

Of us three women Lenni is by far the calmest. She goes about her tasks methodically, pausing every now and then to rub her aching back, gesturing when she needs assistance with lifting or bending. Eithna keeps up a tranquil front for the sake of Tristran and Iseult – yet once I see her biting back tears, looking anxiously toward the west.

Halfway through the third morning I think that I can smell burning. Lenni too sniffs the chilly air enquiringly. Then it is gone – real or a stray figment of our fevered imaginations I cannot be sure……… Our eyes meet and collude…….the battle must be raging…….. our prayers have already been cast to the wind……. We can do no more now than hope against hope……

I know that from kindness, - since he is sure to be spared the first slaughter, - Arthur has designated one of Olwen's sons to await the outcome of the battle on a nearby hill – either way, victory or defeat, he must then try and reach Yorath, either to tell him the glad tidings or reveal where we are, prepare my father to bind with Dirk and Hereward and Ambrose for a last stand........... So, in due course, news will come from the battle field – we can do nothing but wait….

Of course, Lenni and I have always disliked Eithna. If you want to arouse Lenni’s ire, simply remind her of a certain morning beside the lake, Kai’s arm around a certain slim waist, Arthur’s curt command, “Get on that horse”, flying pots and baskets……. I wasn’t there - however her vivid descriptions have made it seem as if I was. Knowing that Eithna was really in love with Arthur all along has never made her presence any more palatable or her actions any more excusable. Those sly eyes, all that tossing of that lustrous hair, the way she sometimes still scrutinizes Arthur’s arse (oh Eithna, you blind stupid woman, if you only really knew…….) And Mark so obviously adores her – no wife could be more worshipped, more deferred to.

But circumstances have forced us to share a confined space and so we are making the best of it. As dusk falls, we send the boys to attend to the horses and Lenni’s mule, call in Druce and Tugram to share our meal, feed the children. Finally, exhausted from their explorations, they grow fractious. Yes, they know that the Saxons are patrolling near our borders, yes their fathers and grandfather think its safer for them to be here for a few days, yes being in a cave isn’t dull – still, when can they go home? They miss the longhouse, they miss their everyday lives, they miss Arthur, Kai and Llud – and Mark’s coddled two are no different or less restless.

Eventually, they are put to bed among the sheepskins beside the flames, with the promise that three days have passed already, another will fly by, the men will be back soon…… Sighing, I scoop up Shannyn to be suckled and settle beside the large fire nearer the cave mouth. Suddenly my throat is throttled by sobs and I want nothing more than to keen to the icy stars……. Yet if I start I will never cease………

To divert myself, I try and unsnarl the tangled web that once linked us three women and our husbands. Kai bedded Eithna who loved Arthur who had sweet escapades one Yule with Lenni who had always loved Kai. It makes me dizzy. Perhaps it has been simpler for Mark and I - (although I will never publicly admit to anything in common with that Cornish braggart, except a long-ago ill-starred betrothal). Mark fell in love with Eithna the moment he saw her (Arthur and Kai will tell you a very funny story concerning that particular feast) and I did the same with Arthur – (the very thought of him entering Yorath’s camp that day invariably makes me shiver with delight). And if now…… the idea is impossible……..the salt stings again……..

Weary and heavy-footed, Lenni has lain down near the children and I think that Eithna too is sleeping back there in the darkness. However there is a rustle behind me and Mark’s wife appears, wrapped in her soft grey furry cloak, long chestnut hair falling past her waist. Not precisely the company I am craving in my present mood, nerves shredded, tears fringing my lashes…….

Eithna sits down quietly, glancing at Shannyn. “I couldn’t sleep….. my mind is too full…….not knowing is worse than anything…….” If you asked me I would say that she does love Mark – she may not be in love with him and he will ever be her second choice, her consolation gift, after Arthur - yet surely a husband as uxorious as the king of Cornwall, a man who is also such a doting father, must evoke some tender feelings?

As if she can read my thoughts, Eithna looks at me, brown eyes narrowed. “I do love him you know, Mark. I want him to come home in the same degree as you do Arthur or Lenni does Kai. I may have learnt to love him after our marriage feast but that doesn’t make me any less sincere.” I am silent, listening. Eithna gazes out into the cold clear night. “You know that I once loved your husband. He broke my heart – for years I could not bear another man near me and while he remained unmarried, I still somehow hoped……..My father Bavick was always enraged. He could have married me off advantageously a dozen times and each time I refused and threw a pitcher at his head.”

At this I burst into laughter, despite myself. “I did the same when Yorath wanted me to marry Hecla and seal his treaty.” I will never trust or probably even like Eithna. But certainly I understand the longing to be with someone who consumes your whole heart……. Reflecting, I move Shannyn to my other breast and she gives me a drowsy milky smile. I watch Eithna watching Arthur’s daughter. “You broke his heart too,” I think, “just not in the way you could ever imagine, oh comely lady of the lake…..”

Sated, Shannyn falls asleep against my shoulder and I move her to the pile of sheepskins beside me. Taking a deep breath, I smile at Eithna – after all, who knows how long we will be here cooped up together like wintering fowls? “All of that business was over long ago – and as for the present, we can do no more than have faith and pray. Our husbands are all fine strong warriors. Their men love and respect them and they are clever strategists. Beyond that……” My voice fades away, choked again by tears – and, in that moment, Kaitlin looms up beside me, Arthur’s beautiful blue eyes anxious in her heart-shaped face. ‘Mummy, it’s Auntie Lenni….. she wants you to come please…….”

Now it is I who must be an able strategist……. I ask Eithna to look after the children, crouch down beside Lenni, ask her what? where? how long? Her answers are brief and emphatic.. “In the small brown bag – everything you might need.” “Help me into the other cave – yes, with the horses – we will not disturb them - and there is already a boiling cauldron in there ready.” “Within the next hour, not more than two.”

The horses remain stolid and impassive throughout. My task, in the end, is relatively easy, utterly uplifting…… Lenni squats, squeezes my fingers, moans silently, cries a little “because Kai is so far away.” I do not dare ask her – she who can cast the runes - what exactly is meant by the latter…….. When the time comes, Lenni pushes once, heaves twice, gives an exhilarated smile – and Kai’s last child slithers into my outstretched hands………….

Long before dawn we are back in the main cave, everything mended or burned, Lenni and the baby slumbering soundly. I lay down for a while, but I am far too fitful and distracted to really sleep. Soon it will be light……. soon a messenger must come …….. soon we will know……..

Despite my whirling thoughts, I do doze for a while. When I awaken, the sky blazes rose and coral. Lenni is still sleeping, thankfully not at all feverish to my touch, the baby beside her softly pursing its mouth, Kai’s mouth, as it dreams. Huddling inside my cape I slip outside before the children wake up.

In defiance of the frosty wind, there is a fresh new smell in the air - the rich loamy scent of the thawing ground, an almost sweet earthy aroma. Whatever has happened, spring is on its way, the world is rejuvenating…… Suddenly I cover my face with my hands, overwhelmed by hope, dread, longing…….. and, when I peel my fingers away, standing opposite me, arms wide open, is Llud………..

 

Part Seven

I fly across the space between us and into his welcoming embrace, hardly aware that I am weeping, just so happy in this moment that he is here and real and whole………. Behind Llud is Krist who reaches out and grasps my hand, before continuing up the slope to the others with his news. Now……

Llud brushes a few tears from my cheeks with his fingers. “You won’t be in need of those ………. A great victory and Arthur and Kai have come through – wounded yes, but nothing that love and time won’t mend – and I know they have an infinite supply of both……..” Only Llud’s arm around my waist keeps me upright…… my head swims as do my eyes with tears of gratitude and thanksgiving…….

Smiling gently, Llud begins to walk up toward the cave with me. “We thought that we had lost Mark, yet I should have known better – that Cornish blatherskite is far hardier than any Saxon axe….. And Karn and Morged are alive, if a bit battered, as are Olwen’s sons and Tugram’s…..” Then his tired eyes cloud over. “But both Morged and Karn leave two sons each on the battlefield and both Olwen’s daughters are widows, as is Elka…….. All our villages have lost so many fine young warriors Rowena – we are safe yes, yet a great price has been paid in blood and youth and dead friends…….. good men and kin who will be evermore missed at the longhouse table when the mead flows……..”

He is silent for a moment, blinking in the cold clear light reflecting through the encircling trees. When he speaks again, his voice is very soft, very resolute. “It was many things that gave us victory……. Mark’s courage, the scholar’s Greek fire, the leadership of Karn and Morged and young Krist…….. but most of all my sons’ battle plan, the one Arthur and Kai have devised together over so many winter nights, sitting with parchment and quill, reviewing, debating, preparing ……. Knowing somehow that a day like this could come, if all the while praying that it never would…….”

Almost at the cave entrance, Llud straightens his shoulders. “There was a time toward the end of the battle when I thought we might be overthrown……..Saxon reinforcements still to come, our men weakened……. but Arthur and Kai’s plan remembered one vital fact : when soldiers are weary and whittled down, give them a rallying point, something on which they can fall back………. And we fell back on Baden Hill, the place of the boar – and the renegades fell to our swords…….”

He shakes his head, as if putting aside the memories for a later quieter time. “No doubt you are ready to set out for home. Arthur and Kai are in need of Lenni’s ministrations and yours……. And I wager the children will be relieved to see the longhouse as well….. Certainly Arthur is eager to see his son and daughters and Kai his three……” Smiling, I interrupt him. “Four.” Llud’s eyes widen. “You mean Lenni…….?” My smile widens too. “Last night and everything is well.” Now I see tears on Llud’s cheeks…… “Grandson or daughter?” I take his hand. “Come and see…..”

Ren is an utterly beautiful child – Kai’s features in miniature, how could it be otherwise? Tenderly Llud pushes aside the swaddling sheepskins from his tiny contented face and gazes in adoration at Kai’s newest son. Although how he manages to sleep with his brothers, sister and cousins so noisily swarming around their grandfather is truly a mystery for the gods to unravel.

Eithna is crying with happiness at the news that Mark lives (albeit her weeping does become rather copious after a while and Lenni signs ruefully that perhaps some of her tears arise from the thought of all the solicitious nursing he will require.) Krist has accompanied Llud here for safety – in case of any stray Saxons lurking, ready for vengeance. However, after a few hours sleep and a hot meal he is returning to Mark’s men - Tugram and Druce avid to go back with him and help our soldiers. Llud is here to escort us home and then ride with Eithna, Tristran and Iseult back to Cornwall. My father by marriage is a true nonesuch………..

At midday, Krist sits, sharing our soup, speaking about Horgren (the very mention of his name makes me shudder – if I had known he was the Saxons’ leader, my anxiety would have increased tenfold.) Wiping his bread around the bottom of his bowl, Krist grins at Lenni. “Kai killed Horgren mere seconds before he would have killed me. I owe him my life.” Llud claps the young man on the shoulder. “A debt you have already more than repaid…….”

He turns to us, smiling. “After the battle was over, I was frantic looking for Kai and Arthur. Mark was back with his men – but they were still missing. When they appeared, the pair of them swaying on the back of Arthur’s white horse, Krist here leading it toward me – well, an old man’s heart has never felt so light…….” Krist laughs in protest. ‘You’re not old Llud – you fought like someone half your age – and never took a scratch.” Gingerly, he rubs the freshly burned axe graze running across his own left wrist. “A present from one of Horgren’s renegades.”

Llud’s eyes are soft. “Never undervalue what you did Krist….. you have helped bring my sons home, to their families and their village.” I realise that Krist’s cheeks are not only red from the glow of the flames…… “I simply……. Well, after Kai slew Horgren I lost him in the fighting for a time…… later, I went to retrieve the Saxon battle standard and found them. Kai insists that Arthur saved his life and Arthur insists that his brother’s memory is hazy, that Kai is embellishing…… perhaps in the end we have simply all pulled each other from the fire….” - and Krist blushes as crimson as the daybreak again. He is flustered to be the focus of attention – no matter how deserved. The blacksmith’s daughter from Mark’s village is lucky to have him as a husband, as a father for their two chestnut-haired sons.

I stand with Llud, watching Krist, Tugram and Druce ride away down the track into the bright afternoon – Tugram wrapped less warmly than most men would be at the height of spring. That story of Pictish blood is no myth……… “Well.” Llud sighs with mingled relief and resignation. “Back to the longhouse tomorrow – to begin rebuilding anew…..But then that is the story of living on our island…..” He smiles at me, “And being a family.”

There will be so much to do – men to nurse back to health, wounds of the body and mind to heal, the dead to be mourned, treaties to remake and maintain, negotiating the pact that Arthur so longs to conclude with Cerdig……. Yet suddenly I am flooded by certainty. Anything will be possible as long as we are all together……

As if to affirm my conviction, Llud’s delighted laughter rings out from the cave. He has gone ahead and is standing at the entrance holding the baby in his arms. The sheepskin hood has slipped back from his little head – so for the first time Llud can see his new grandson’s smattering of silky hair. Of course, he expects it to be as barley-gold as Kai’s Theo, Cedric and Maeve – but he has expected wrongly. Ren’s thistledown is raven – black. The perfect blending of Saxon and Celt…….

 

Part Eight

Today the longhouse is blissfully quiet. After weeks of bustle and clamour. When we returned to the village after Baden Hill, the wounded – including me and Kai - were brought here to be cared for. Lenni, Rowena, Olwen and the other village women have worked tirelessly, saving many more lives than we had anticipated – as well as preserving many more limbs.

As to how we survived to be nursed……..I cannot remember much after seeing my Kai felled by a Saxon axe heel. There is a vague memory of crawling forward and wrenching an axe from one of Horgren’s dead warriors twisted beside me - Kai tumbled in a skewed heap - suddenly wavering on my feet – the axe buried in the skull of my brother’s tow-haired assailant – hauling Kai back with me into the undergrowth – covering his body with mine – then nothing until feeling Krist’s hands gently shaking me awake…….

Certainly, I have not been the most forbearing of patients – chafing to be out of bed before my shoulder was wholly sound, driving Rowena, my sweet spirited girl, to distraction with my impatience. Kai is far more tolerant, yet even he became restless. “Lovely precious Lenni, can I get up today?” Sighing loudly at her emphatic gesture of denial. (Sighing quietly as Luc brings him the kithara for yet more instruction.) Head wounds however are notoriously delicate and require painstaking care. Both of us too have been somewhat subdued by Llud’s only half-empty threats to cuff us with his silver hand if we disobey.

In truth, there has been no need for our fretful tempers since all is well. Llud has once again demonstrated that he is the most competent lieutenant - and father – within the Celtic alliance. Mark was seriously wounded but the great ox is recovering quickly. (“Eithna’s devoted nursing?” I suggested to Lenni, only to be met by a dubious stare and disbelieving eyes cast to the heavens.) Meanwhile, he is clumping around, proving that he can boot in the arse just as effectively with his left foot.

Arrangements have been made to reinforce old treaties and negotiate new pacts. Not that many of the traditional resentments don’t endure. Morged will always be a wolf – but at least his fangs are now bared in support of our alliance, instead of snapping at its heels. He and Karn know that their sons died for something lasting, something real – and that their remaining offspring will have the chance to wax fat in a safer land.

Soon, Cerdig and I will meet at Yorath’s village to conclude a settlement. Long ago we attempted such a venture and failed – because of a stray knife, aimed at a wooden target, that instead, embedded itself in a Saxon’s chest. This time though we will succeed. We must if there is ever to be lasting peace.

Peace to laze in the longhouse with our family, be grateful for a wife who held me as Rowena did the first time we saw each other after Baden Hill, cosset our children, allow the village to prosper and so much else…………..

Kai’s wound is completely healed now – nothing but a pale crease under the fine blonde hair at his temple. And my shoulder is flexible again. I feared for a time that it would mend crooked or stiff. My left shoulder, yes, but my shield arm and a permanent weakness for a warrior if enfeebled. I should have had more faith in Lenni though – the evil-smelling poultices she prepared and Rowena applied worked their magic.

Yesterday Kai and I went out to the meadow beside the river so that I could practise blocking and thwarting with my shield – as once we drilled with young Corin. Kai parried and lunged with his sword, while I warded off the blows. Eventually though I became suspicious, believing that he was holding back to spare me. “ Thrust as hard as you can big brother.” His answering grin told me that he was thinking of something quite different from sword play – and that certain matters are somewhat overdue……….

For the past few days however we have had the pleasure of Hereward the Holy’s company and that of his eldest son Preece. (Behind his back, Kai mockingly calls him Preece the Pure since he is as long-winded and frankly irksome as his father, despite his youth. Last night Llud told Kai he should stop his teasing. Kai nodded. “Yes, I suppose Preece would be offended if he ever heard.” Llud looked surprised. “No far from it, because the silly moonsick fool will revel in the name – and we’ll never hear the end of it.”)

At any rate, Llud has escaped their garrulous babbling today by taking Rowena, Lenni and the children out into the woods. It is the warmest spring for years – and high time that Kai and Lenni’s little ebony-haired Saxon saw more primroses and hawthorn. Which has consigned Kai and me to Hereward and Preece’s prattling mercy. Thankfully they have been accommodated far more swiftly than I had supposed. Their marks have been made on the new treaty and my big brother has firmly steered them off to the guest-quarters for the afternoon………

A confession: sometimes, since Baden Hill, I have felt fear biting at the edges of my mind. A few days before I faced Karn in the sword ring for the first time Kai accused me of trying to prove that I was a man of stone. I replied that I did not scorn fear because it made men careful. My answer may have been only half truthful then, but it would be wholly sincere now when I have so much more to lose. And I am afraid lately that all the blessings of my life could suddenly be snatched away through some capricious whim of the gods. A few less minutes grace on Baden Hill and my Kai…….. From the longhouse table, I watch him through slitted eyes - golden-skinned, golden-haired, snake-hipped, heart-stopping, beloved…….

He does not see me bar the outer doors or hear me instruct the sentries that we are not to be disturbed – there are ponderous weighty concerns to be resolved. Arthur lies sprawled in his great carved wooden chair, relaxing amid the sheepskins that have been piled there to ease his shoulder, eyes closed, satiny dark head thrown back……. I love him more than……..well, there are no words…….I love him simply because I know no other way………

For years I have been deemed the unluckiest gambler within the Celtic alliance, but gazing at my little brother now there is one certainty: Arthur’s One God – or perhaps Llud’s old Druidic gods – have cast the dice and let them fall for me. And they have landed in shards of gold, of silver, of tawny honey……..

My cock is so chiselled that I hobble towards him as unsteadily as Mark who has the excuse of his slashed thigh. I have only the excuse of craving, coveting, needing…………

His blue eyes fly open, wide with concern, when he feels my famished fingers scrabbling at his breeches. “Kai my heart,…. your head….. are you certain…… it might make you dizzy.” Then I see his twinkle……. I grin at him, amused and ravenous with desire. “Oh fuck it little brother, no matter since I’ve been dizzy for untold years now – and soon you can return the indulgence……”

He fills my mouth, his beautiful rigid exuberant prick. It is a celebration of life, of renewal, of survival, of being one …….. Arthur groans, his hands clawing at the fleeces tossed around him, snarling in my hair. I feel his lips scorching my forehead, scalding my nape, as I graze his succulent balls, lick languorously down his glistening shaft……….

Shivering as his fingers wind around my ripe hard cock, start their caressing dance…… Rocked by intoxication, my issue spilling across his palm, my lips deluged by creamy nectar, I reach up and cover his mouth with mine, sharing his shimmering seed, surrendering my soul, declaring my heart……..

You would think that it would be difficult for both Kai and I to fit comfortably in my carved chair – but it is the easiest thing in the world. We lie together, entwined in complete elation, warmed by supreme contentment. There is something so still and bewitching about the late afternoon air today, something strange and wonderful about the way the spring light falls through the chinks in the longhouse wicker. There is something especially glorious about simply holding my big brother’s hand. And I look at Kai, nuzzle his cheek, realising - when I never thought it possible - that I love him infinitely more than I have ever realised before.

And I am not afraid.


End file.
